


White Lies of a Colored Past

by ConvenientAlias



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Crack, Gatsby is a LIAR, M/M, don't trust him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 02:36:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14154810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConvenientAlias/pseuds/ConvenientAlias
Summary: “Nick and I met during the war.”Nick blinked. Well, maybe they had. They’d been familiar to each other, and several times they’d tried to chart whether they’d run into each other in Europe. Still, no matter how you looked at it, they hadn’t really met that way if neither of them could remember.“We were serving with the same regiment,” Gatsby said. “You know there’s no stronger bond than one formed in the trench.”This, now. This was a blatant lie.





	White Lies of a Colored Past

The first time Nick caught Gatsby lying about their past, he figured it was a joke.

They were talking to a stranger named something like Fiddlseby or Buford or…well, something like that. It wasn’t the first time they had met him at a party. He was an older middle aged man, and very enthusiastic to be in Gatsby’s presence, very enthusiastic to be at a party at all. For the past fifteen minutes he had been ranting on and on about his societal connections, while Gatsby had been quietly pretending to know every name he mentioned. It was a game of lies on both sides, most likely, but it was fun to watch from the sidelines, and Nick was enjoying himself.

“But you, Carraway,” Bufiddorton said, suddenly looking over at him.

Nick gestured at himself nervously. “Me?” Fideburtles was looking him right in the eye, and he had lost track of the conversation a couple minutes ago.

“Yes, you. I don’t think I’ve seen you around at any other parties. Of course you always seem to be with Gatsby…”

Nick glanced over and met Gatsby’s eyes with a little smile. Yes, they were always together, of course they were. He loved the sound of that statement coming from someone else’s mouth. Bufiddles couldn’t possibly know what they were to each other yet he knew they were something. Nick loved that: the secretiveness of his relationship with Gatsby and the openness at the same time. Of course he was always with Gatsby. Of course, of course…

“…but I swear I’d never even seen you around New York until last year. How do you and Gatsby know each other, anyhow?”

Nick bit his lip. A bit hard to explain, really. They couldn’t say Gatsby had initially courted him trying to arrange an affair with his cousin and then eventually fallen in love with him instead. They could say he’d moved next door and met Gatsby at a party, probably, and just somehow clicked and become good friends. That was the simplest way to explain it, probably. He opened his mouth to explain but Gatsby cut him off.

“Nick and I met during the war.”

Nick blinked. Well, maybe they had. They’d been familiar to each other, and several times they’d tried to chart whether they’d run into each other in Europe. Still, no matter how you looked at it, they hadn’t really met that way if neither of them could remember.

“We were serving with the same regiment,” Gatsby said. “You know there’s no stronger bond than one formed in the trench.”

This, now. This was a blatant lie.

“He saved my life once,” Gatsby added. “Pulled me out of no man’s land when I was down from a bullet. I would be dead without him. Amazing man, really.”

Bufigtorburson turned to Nick, eyes wide. “Well! I had no idea.”

“It was nothing, really,” Nick murmured. He couldn’t just contradict Gatsby. Besides, it was a little bit funny. Together they wove a story of trenches and camaraderie, and it was coherent as long as you hadn’t been on the warfront with either of them, in the areas they described. Fun to watch their listener grow more and more astonished.

He forgot about it afterwards. Gatsby played all sorts of little jokes like this.

 

* * *

 

The second time, though. The second time was with Tom.

“Pardon me if I don’t think a man who met Nick only a few months ago can have his best interests at heart,” Tom said coldly. He’d been arguing with Gatsby for a while now, and Gatsby had been largely having the worst of it. “You know I’ve known Nick since college…”

“I’ve known Gatsby for longer than a few months,” Nick insisted. It had been nearly a year now, after all.

“Yes,” Gatsby said, “We’ve known each other since college too.”

Nick gave him a look.

“You can’t have. I knew everyone at our school,” Tom said. But he sounded not completely certain.

“We met during a summer break,” Gatsby said. “I was on vacation in the area, and you know Nick sometimes stayed at school for part of the summer.”

Tom narrowed his eyes but apparently couldn’t remember that this was blatantly false.

“We were engaged in an academic project together soon after we met. After all, our interests were so similar, how could we help it? He had to go home to his family eventually but we kept in touch through the war. And then, after the war, he moved next door to me. I summoned him, told him about the house. But I didn’t really expect him to buy it! Well, I guess friendship is a powerful motivator.”

“Nick doesn’t own his house.”

“I meant, he rented it,” Gatsby said. “Semantics, old man. You know what I mean.”

Tom, clearly annoyed at being called an old man, which was even worse than being called an old sport, turned to Nick. “Really? You’ve known this…fellow since college?”

Nick gulped. “Well, on and off. And for a while we really just corresponded. But yes.”

“And what was this academic project you worked on together, hm?”

“A new analysis of Milton’s _Paradise Lost_ ,” Nick said.

“Yes. We found certain subtexts in the passages about…”

“…Satan,” Nick supplied.

Tom said, “Well, I never heard about any project about Milton.”

“It wasn’t that important. I didn’t talk about it to that many people.”

Tom gave Nick a long look. He didn’t put lying past Gatsby but he’d always seemed to believe in Nick, thought well of him. Nick looked back dispassionately. He didn’t mind lying, though this was a rather pointless lie, and it would be awkward if he got caught. Why did Gatsby want to entangle their pasts so badly? This would never be enough to get Tom off their backs, and it would only make him more suspicious of their relationship that they lied to him.

Finally Tom snorted. “You and your academic pursuits. You never told me you came all the way to New York for some…old flame…”

“Old friend,” Nick corrected, no matter that the former was more accurate if anything. “Well, you know. It was a bit hard to explain.”

“And you think this pink-jacketed…”

The conversation returned to the same old grooves, insults being thrown every which way. But this time Nick decided he would not let Gatsby’s lies drop.

 

* * *

 

“You keep on telling odd stories about how we met.”

Gatsby laughed softly. He was lying with Nick’s back against his chest, and his laughter reverberated through Nick’s body, gently rocking him. “All right, old sport. How would you tell it?”

“I think the story’s good enough as is.” Nick rubbed against Gatsby slightly, arching his back. “I was at one of your parties, having been sent an invitation. Wandered around, looking to find the mysterious host. I found myself talking to a blond man, very handsome, about how I liked the party. As we wandered onto the balcony, I commented how I had not seen Gatsby yet. And then…” He sighed. This was the part of the story he liked the best. “You turned towards me. There was a glint in your eye—I should have known you would be trouble. You said, ‘You see, old sport, _I’m_ Gatsby.’ And when I gaped at you, feeling nervous, you took a little sip from your cup. Completely composed and amused. You didn’t judge me at all for my slip.”

“How kind of me,” Gatsby murmured.

“And then, while I was staring at you, fireworks went off right behind your head. Blasting through the night sky. Gorgeous, like you were.” Nick turned over and kissed Gatsby on the lips. “That’s how I’d tell it.”

“I’m not as poetic as you. Good story though. Mind if I use it?”

“Gatsby. Please do. You keep on putting us in these situations…”

“All right then. We’ll go with your version.”

“It’s the truth.”

Gatsby laughed again, and he pulled Nick closer.

 

* * *

 

“So how did you meet?” asked the young dancer. She was a redhead who made Nick think of Tom’s mistress Myrtle, except less harnessed by life’s yoke, at least so far. She was cheerful and while she liked talking to Nick and Gatsby she didn’t seem starstruck by them. Better, she had a pretty young partner named Jolene and the two clearly had an intimate relationship, so there was no need to dissemble with her.

Gatsby took a sip of champagne. “You’ll let me tell it, old sport?”

“Why not.”

“Well, Nick had invited me over to his place. He was having a house-warming party. And the house was crowded with people. He hardly ever has parties so it was a significant event, really—I’m lucky to have been invited as a mere neighbor.”

“Hardly a mere neighbor anymore,” the dancer said with a giggle.

“Well, no. But back then I didn’t know him. Of course I wanted to meet the host. So I wandered through the crowd and I ended up talking to this young brunet man…”

“Ooh, wonder who that is?” Jolene whispered to the dancer conspiratorially. They both smirked.

“…and I remarked to him that I hadn’t seen Nick Carraway yet. He turns around, quirks his eyebrows, and says, ‘But sir, _I’m_ Nick Carraway.’ And then he calmly takes a sip of his drink. Didn’t seem to judge me for it. Nick never judges anyone.”

“He’s always so nice,” the dancer said in agreement.

“But! Here’s the best part. As he drank, we were in front of a window, and across the bay someone had lit up fireworks. He says his name and boom. An explosion of light and color.” Gatsby squeezed Nick’s hand. “So I knew then he would be something extraordinary to me.”

“I can’t believe that,” Jolene said. The dancer elbowed her, and she laughed and said, “Not that it’s not a pretty picture.”

Nick sighed. “Well, it’s true enough.”

“Really? Fireworks?”

“Fireworks,” Nick said tiredly. He went to get another glass of punch.

Gatsby trailed behind him. “Well, Nick? How’d I do?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Nick said. He ladled punch into his cup. “Kiss me.”

Gatsby looked one way and another to make sure no one official-looking was in the area, and then gave Nick a warm kiss on his lips. “I think I’ll get a little more punch myself.”

Nick ladled him some, shaking his head. He wondered sometimes whether Gatsby even remembered how they actually met—wondered sometimes if anything Gatsby had ever told him about the past was true, even his initial meeting with Daisy. But on some level he supposed it didn’t matter. He knew who Gatsby was now. He knew who he was to Gatsby now and forever. And apart from that, who cared about the details?

Fireworks.

When he thought about it, he couldn’t quite remember if that part was true himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Gatsby has gotten to the point where he sees Nick as a part of himself. He always lies about his own past, so why shouldn't he lie about Nick too? tbh I'm not even sure he remembers how they really met. He just retcons it a lot.  
> Lols.  
> Anyways, I'd love to hear from y'all in the comments! Tell me bout your Natsby feels.


End file.
